Interconnected
by Kameka
Summary: After the events in "Periculum," Sara's life spins out of control as the Witchblade searches for what the Wielder needs to survive. Please Review!
1. Inner Thoughts

Sara Pezzini took several deep, gasping breaths before jumping off the bed as she realized that she was free of the bondage of the Periculum. She looked down at the rumpled sheets on the innocent looking bed and automatically tried to twist the Witchblade on her right wrist. The bracelet refused to budge and she lifted her hand, eyes widening as she saw the ends buried beneath her skin. She looked around her loft apartment for any other changes before taking a hot shower and getting dressed.

Taking a deep breath, she began to clean the destruction of Conchobar's kidnapping. She had just bent and begun to lift the shattered mirror when she saw Danny Woo's reflection and heard his voice as she turned around to see him.

"You made it," he said before looking down. Sara smiled as she stood and reached out to physically connect with her dead partner in a hug him, feeling a familiar pain wash through her as he pulled back. "We can't touch anymore, Sara." He looked up before continuing, "You can see into my world, but you don't live here."

Sara frowned a bit, not wanting the possible connection she had missed so much to disappear again. "What do you mean?"

Danny stood up and explained with a bittersweet smile, "you're no longer dying."

Sara's answer was a tremulous smile, "You're right, Danny, 'cause I'm not afraid to. Not anymore." She saw Danny smile again as she reached out before clasping her hands together and bringing them to her lips before he looked down to the floor again. Unshed tears brightened her eyes as she thought of everything she had been through this week. She had been dropped from the heights of happiness to the depths of depression before finally discovering why the Witchblade chose her and what her mission was. A mission she couldn't wait to fulfill. "Hey, Danny?"

"Can I pop out?" A rueful smile graced his lips. "Now you don't need your wise Asian Master?"

Sara laughed, a slightly hysterical sound that held the remnants of all the emotions locked inside. "I'll always need you, Danny," was said seriously. "I just have a few things to think through." Relief at not having offended her friend spread through her as Danny nodded but before he could disappear, she had to ask one more question. "Danny, is this thing," she held up her right hand before gesturing to the bed, "always going to react like that?"

"Nah, not always. Think well, Sara; be careful not to sprain anything." Danny quipped before disappearing, leaving Sara alone in her self-induced prison of the past few days.

* * *

The wrecked apartment once again in it's normal state of casual disarray, Sara sat down on a long bench before the large windows placed in the walls. She pulled her folded her legs, pulling them close to her chest as she rested her chin on her knees and stared with unseeing green eyes at the wide sky broken by buildings. Her mind, instead on the view before her, was firmly entrenched in the past.

__

Death follows me. It reaches out to everyone I encounter: my parents, my partner, my friends, and my lover, but Cathain reminded me that I followed death. I've followed death my entire life, for years before I encountered the Witchblade. Which one of us is right? Is it possible that we both are?

It would explain why I talk to Danny after his death and why I could talk to Monsignor Bellamy. I can see into Danny's world, but I don't live there. What world is that? The same one that the rest of the Wielders inhabit?

Elizabeth Bronte speaks of death as if it's a friend. "We have died a thousand times and are born a thousand and one" is how she put it. She also said that she's me and I'm her, that we're both all of the Wielders, and that we all exist now. Logic says that that's impossible, but logic stopped being the guiding force in my life months ago.

Confusion tolerance, Danny's favorite quote. Danny again. I miss him so much. He was more than my partner, he was my best friend besides Maria. I can still remember the silence of the Rialto theatre when Gallo shot him. It felt like my life was never going to be the same; an all-consuming rage just filled me. It wasn't the determination to see Gallo go down, but pure bloodlust brought on by fear.

It always comes back to that, doesn't it? Fear of dying, fear of living, fear of failing, fear of succeeding. I had failed my partner. It was my idea to go to the theatre, my determination that Gallo pay for Maria's death that caused Danny's death. It's a never-ending circle that feeds itself. Fear feeds the hatred, the hatred feeds the violence, and the violence feeds the fear. Total and complete insanity.

According to Joan, that's my mission. To end the insanity in the world, to cleanse the human race. How can I do that? How can any woman do that, even with the Witchblade? I passed the Periculum, the test of worthiness the Witchblade gives it's Wielders. I still don't understand how. I was truthful in admitting I didn't know if I passed and that I didn't, don't, feel wise. The others were. Is that wisdom something you only get when you have the Witchblade for longer? Something you only get when another goes through the Periculum?

A branch ripped from the Tree of Knowledge of Good and Evil. It sounds important. Frightening, but reassuring. It gives everything that's been happening a sense of reality that's been missing. The Witchblade isn't just a bracelet that turns into armor when I need it; it isn't just a thing of myths and legends, but something real. It has a real history, real people who've worn it. There's a reason it's worn and a reason it chooses certain people.

Is that why I keep seeing things others don't? Elizabeth explained that time slipping was a gift of the Witchblade, and I already knew it could be used to talk to the dead. Is the ability to see into other people another? That's what happened with Eddie Nolan. "My name is Legion," he said, "for we are many!" I saw him standing there in that alley after Dante gave the order to fire and was flooded with images of hatred and death, and every instinct in me told me that he was innocent, that it was imperative I save him. I looked into his eyes, and something flashed at me. Like it was mocking me.

Legion. Another symptom of the insanity of the world or something more? I think DelToro's a part of it. The insanity I'm supposed to clean in the insanity of the human race, and he wasn't human. He was here simply to get the Witchblade back. Was he the reason Nolan was possessed? So he could be a convenient scapegoat? I do wonder which side DelToro was on. The Vatican, or whatever guided Hitler? His clothes would say the Vatican, but that voice and face while we were fighting was plain demonic. Jake's first thought about that case was that even the Devil can quote scripture for his purpose. So was DelToro the Devil? 

Everything in my life is connected now. Irons, Nottingham, Gabriel, Danny. Gallo killed Maria, which sent me after Gallo. His protégé, Vespuci, drew on Danny, and I chased him into Midtown Museum. Nottingham was in the museum, and that's where I found the Witchblade… or the Witchblade found me. Whatever. Vespuci's death made Gallo take out a contract on me, and I still went after him for Maria. That's why we went to the Rialto, where Gallo killed Danny. I learned to control the Witchblade better when fighting Gallo for my life in the subway. 

Then Mobius came along, a member of the Black Dragons. Covert Ops. Mobius was connected to Nottingham, who's connected to Irons. The Black Dragons had a base in drugs, genetic research, and the perfect warriors. I kill Mobius, leaving Nottingham the only surviving member.

Gina Mavis was murdered and connected to Dominique Boucher. Dominique was connected to both Irons and the Witchblade. Because of those connections, I meet Karen Bronte, a woman whose grandmother is identical to me… whose grandmother is me. Gina was killed by mistake, it was supposed to be Karen, luring me in so Dominique could get the Witchblade back. Karen disappears.

There's a murder that leads me to Isaac Sullivan, whose father is Peter DeAngelo, a doctor who inseminated women with his own sperm. Irons backed his research. Genetic research. Through the first murder, I met Gabriel for the first time, and later asked his help with information regarding the Witchblade. Help Irons obviously doesn't want me to have, since he sent his watchdog to pay Gabriel not to talk to me.

Next comes a case that deals with someone trying to bring Cathain back to life. I met Conchobar because of a symbol scratched on the wall of the murder scene and got tickets from Gabriel. He sang of Cathain's legend and the witch's glove. The murders are identical to the song: not once but twice slain. Were the murders to lead me to Conchobar?

Then there's Monsignor Bellamy, Eddie Nolan, and Father DelToro. Adolf Hitler had the Witchblade in his collection of objects of power; he got the Witchblade from the Vatican. Bellamy translated the letters between Hitler and the Pope during the war. It was the journals from those years that were missing. Where are they? DelToro's excuse for coming was Bellamy's murder but he really came for the Witchblade.

Conchobar's kidnapping. Irish terrorists who wanted to exchange him for his brother. Fiona, wanting the Witchblade. I don't think she knew what it was, though. Dante refuses to help, and I push Orlinsky with my 'evidence' on film. I take the money from lock-up, but they don't accept it. Nottingham comes with more money. Always Nottingham. A fight breaks out and Fiona uses the Witchblade to kill Conchobar. I wake up and the Witchblade is back on my wrist, but I didn't put it there. Who did? 

Both Cathain and I loved Conchobar. All the Wielders loved Conchobar, since Elizabeth said that we're all the same person. And we do get him back. Maybe there's an expiration date on the relationship? In the song, the king Conchobar abandoned Cathain for his throne. Maybe there's just that window of time for Conchobar and any Wielder to be together. 

Everything in my life is connected now . The blade weaves a web. Unbreakable. I can see parts of the web, but not all. It's like a game of connect the dots and half the dots are hidden. How does Gabriel fit into it? Does he just act as my friend and supply me with information? How does Jake fit into it? Does he? What is it that Irons really wants? Or Nottingham? What was with Orlinsky? Why has Dante always been so against me? How is he connected, other than to make my life miserable?

I don't know the answers but I will find them out. If the Witchblade draws everything in my life that I need to return sanity to the human race, then I better figure out what goes where and who I can trust..

Sara came back to the present to find the sky reddish orange from the sunset. How much time had passed, she didn't know, but it was definitely time well spent. She uncurled her legs, groaning softly as the muscles stretched. At least she could tell Danny next time she saw him that she didn't sprain anything. A movement to her left caught her attention and she turned to see Gabriel Bowman sitting on her couch with his dark head bent over a book. "How'd you get in here?"

Gabriel looked up, a smile breaking out. "Chief! I thought you'd never come out of that trance."

Sara shook her head and stood. "Not a trance, just some deep thinking… Have you added breaking and entering to your list of criminal activities?"

Gabriel shrugged. "Nah, just told your super that I had a delivery. Worked last time; why mess with success? Besides, what criminal activities are you maligning my sterling character with," he asked while batting his eyelashes.

"Well, for starters, some of the clothes you wear are a walking fashion crime in progress." Sara grinned as she said it to let him know that she was teasing and went over to her stove for the pot of coffee. She got down two mugs and poured the strong-smelling liquid into them before taking them back to the couch and handing one to Gabriel.

He reached out for the offered mug as he self-consciously stroked the brightly colored retro shirt he was wearing with the other hand. "I'll have you know that these clothes are very hip."

Sara nodded after taking a sip. "Yeah, yeah. At least none of your clients can fall asleep when talking to you."

Gabriel grinned and lightly punched Sara in the arm. He placed a piece of fabric in his book to hold it's place and leaned over to put it on the coffee table before turning to Sara. "It's good to see you, Chief. I've been worried about you."

Sara nodded and reached out to squeeze his hand. "I know, Gabe. I'm ok."

Gabriel looked her over, noticing the slight shadows under, as well as the new knowledge in, her eyes. He nodded and leaned over to hug her. "Yeah, you are, Chief." They stayed in that position for a few minutes before parting. "Oh, did you hear me telling you about that test?"

Sara nodded. "'Course. What am I, deaf?"

Gabriel took a long drink of his coffee. "Well, you never responded to the message on your machine," he looked at the blinking red light, "and you didn't answer when I came to the door… You might have been out."

"No, I've been here. Haven't left for even a minute." Sara finished her coffee in one long drink and moved to the edge of her seat. "Gonna finish yours? We can empty the pot then make another fresh."

"Thinking about Conchobar?" He finished the bitter liquid in one quick gulp and handed the dark blue cup to her.

"Among other things." She got up and walked to the kitchen, pouring the dark liquid into the cups before rinsing out the pot.

"I was shocked to hear about his death. All of his fans were." His tone was quiet, checking to see if the subject was ok.

Sara nodded distractedly. "They'd have heard by word of mouth alone, never mind television and magazine articles."

"Wonder what the band'll do?" While not the greatest start, Gabriel thought it had just enough casual interest to get her talking.

Sara shrugged, obviously not interested. "I dunno, get another lead singer, maybe."

"It'll be hard to find another one who wrote like that. Conchobar was the main writer in the group," he pointed out.

Sara looked over her shoulder at the young man. "I know, Gabriel."

He flushed. "Sorry, Sara."

She brought the mugs and sat back down on the couch. Handing him his, she shook her head. "It's ok, kid. You're right: his fans are shocked and the band'll have a hard time replacing him. I've always hated fishing. If you have a question, ask it."

"A detective who hates fishing? How d'ya manage your interrogations?" He sighed as she raised her brow again. "Okay, okay. I knew that you two were tight and I came over here as soon as I heard, but you weren't here, or at least not answering your door. Had you just found out?" He watched as Sara shook her head tersely in answer. "Did the police tell you?" Sara shook her head again, just as tersely, but the glimmer of tears in her eyes was all he needed. "Man-o-man, you were _there_?"

Sara nodded and looked over him. "I went to negotiate. I know, I failed. Obviously." Gabriel nodded and sat quietly, waiting for her to continue. "I don't remember everything that happened. I just remember seeing him tied up, hoping that he'd be let loose, and then killed."

"The TV reports say that some type of sword killed him?" The question was asked softly, and Sara nodded as she lifted her wrist in silent answer. "You killed him?"

Sara shook her head. "I gave it to one of the terrorists as part of the ransom. She killed him."

"I thought only the wielders could wear it." His tone puzzled, Gabriel sat back a she tried to make sense of what Sara was telling him.

"Not always. Kenneth Irons wore it before, so did Dominique Boucher. They were both pretenders, same as Fiona." She continued as Gabriel nodded, obviously not needing to be told who Fiona was. "The past few months have been an initiation, like class and taking notes before a test."

"The test I came earlier to tell you about." 

"Right." Sara paused and looked at Gabriel. "Why don't we order a couple pizzas and eat while we talk, ok? I don't think I've been fair to you."

Gabriel blinked. "Huh?"

"Well, think about it. You've been helping me find information about this," she held up her wrist, "possibly risking your life to help me, but I haven't told you anything I've learned."

Gabriel shook his head. "Hey, listen, Chief, don't sweat it," he shrugged, "if you think I need to know something, you'd tell me. Pizza sounds great though."

"Gabriel, I need to talk to someone." Sara sighed. "I have Danny, but as helpful as he's been, I'd like a friend alive who knows about it. You, Irons, and Nottingham are the only three people who do. You definitely are a friend, Irons definitely isn't a friend, and I haven't figured out where Nottingham fits in yet. Hold on a minute and let me order it."

Gabriel thought about while she was on the phone before nodding. "Tall, dark, and scary is just that and he works for Irons. Why isn't Irons a friend? He's seemed pretty helpful to me."

Sara snorted and took a drink of her coffee. "I found it when it was in the Joan of Arc collection at the Midtown Museum; Irons' collection. He's helpful because he wants the Witchblade."

"Why doesn't he take it back if he wants it?"

Sara shook her head. "Gabriel, he doesn't want to own it; he wants to control it. You said it yourself, only women can wield it. He can't wear it himself and he gives me just enough information to keep me going back for more while sending Nottingham to watch out for me. He can't control it himself, so he wants to control the person who can."

Gabriel blinked. "News flash: you aren't easily controlled."

Sara laughed before nodding. "I know, but that doesn't stop Irons from trying."

Gabriel nodded himself. Just because the man was rich didn't mean that he was particularly smart, right? "Uh, Chief?"

"Yeah?" Sara put her coffee cup down and reached out for the book he had been reading.

"A friend who's alive?" His voice a bit high and a touch on the incredulous side.

Sara glanced at him before turning back to the book. "That's what I said."

"Who d'ya know who's dead?" He paused and held up a hand. "Sorry, stupid question to ask a homicide detective. Lemme put it this way: who do you talk to who's dead?"

"Danny." She looked past him, hoping to see him.

Gabriel sighed. She _wanted_ to talk but this was like pulling teeth! "Who's Danny?"

Sara reached for her collection of photographs on her coffee table. Picking up one of her and Danny taken a few months before his death, she handed the picture to Gabriel. "Daniel Woo, my partner."

He automatically accepted the picture and looked at a laughing Sara trying to pull away from a smiling Asian with long hair. One arm was around her waist and the man was pulling her into a hug. They were obviously at a park or in a backyard since there were trees and grass in the background. "Sorry Chief, you looked like good friends."

Sara looked at the picture, remembering that afternoon. "We were. We still are." Sara took a deep breath before revisiting the past once again. "Danny was killed right after I encountered the Witchblade. We were going after Tommy Gallo when one of his men pulled on Danny. I chased the man, Lorenzo Vespuci, into the Midtown Museum. During the fight, the Witchblade found it's way onto my arm. I thought I was going crazy, his bullets bounced off the gauntlet."

Gabriel started to nod but then stopped. "Wait-a-minute. What day was this?"

"November 11th."

He blinked. "November 11th was when the Midtown Museum got destroyed during a firefight."

"I know."

"You were _inside_?"

"Yeah. I remember the fight, then it felt like a grenade hit, the entire place turned into a ball of fire. I came to basically unharmed on an ambulance stretcher outside the museum." Sara shrugged. The incident was a life changer, but not one she had recognized at the time or dwelled on.

"The Witchblade protected you! Oh, that's awesome."

"Yeah, it did."

Gabriel continued without noticing what she said. "Were you aware during the fire? Could you still move? Could you see…"

"Gabriel." Sara said, hoping to stop his questions.

"Yeah?"

"I can only tell you what I know." Her tone was one of humored exasperation, the one she normally used when Gabriel went off on one of his tangents.

"Well, that's a given, Chief."

"Interruptions don't always help," was stated in the same tone.

"Sorry, Chief," he said, sounding like a sulking child. He pushed his lower lip out a bit in an exaggerated pout.

Sara chuckled. "Listen, I'll tell you what I know, what I'm comfortable with. It might not be everything right now, but I promise to answer most of your questions as best I can, ok?"

Gabriel nodded. "Okay. How can I knock it? I'm finally getting _some_ answers!" He laughed himself and took a drink of his own lukewarm coffee as the doorbell to the apartment rang. "Ugh, gimme your cup, Chief, I'll get the pizza and do the refills this time." He waited until it was handed to him before getting up. Walking over to the counter where the coffee pot was, he asked, "so, did that Lorenzo guy kill Danny?"

Sara shook her head. "No, just pulled on him. Danny was killed by Gallo in the Rialto Theatre. One shot, straight to the heart. He didn't even have his gun on him at that point, since Gallo made him drop it." The remembered anger and shock laced her sadness-roughened voice.

"Talk about unfair." He went down the stairs and paid for the pizza, coming back up and putting it on the table.

Sara gave a quick bark of laughter. "We're talking Tommy Gallo here, remember? I doubt fair was even in his vocabulary."

"Good point," he said, taking a piece.

"Anyway, Gallo kills Danny, and then a day or so after, during his funeral he shows up out of nowhere. Just pops in. Scared the hell outta me." She took a piece for herself and took a bite of it.

Gabriel laughed, as much at the idea of Danny showing up as the idea of Sara being scared. Nothing he'd seen so far showed it. "Completely understandable."

"I went and talked to Irons, the owner of the Rialto, and asked him about the Witchblade. He doesn't tell me much, just that if it belongs to anyone it belongs to me, only women can wield it, and it abandons it's Wielders. Later, Nottingham tells me about bloodlust and it's really controllable only if the woman wearing it sheds blood." She looked over at him. "Obviously, I did."

Gabriel nodded silently, not knowing what to say, if anything.

"You were right about the clairvoyance, being able to see things others can't. _'Piercing the veil of the senses,' _Irons called it. I can see flashes of murders that I'm investigating, memories from other Wielders, even the Wielders themselves at times. It's nothing I can control right now, but maybe in the future." She paused "Time slips for me, too; sometimes forwards, sometimes back. A gift of the Witchblade, Elizabeth said."

He whistled through his teeth. "Bet the clairvoyance is great at work." He took a bite, swallowing it quickly as another thought hit him. "Elizabeth?"

Sara nodded. "Yeah, Elizabeth Bronte."

"Enigma code Elizabeth Bronte?"

Sara nodded again before taking another bite.

"The woman who's identical to you?" Gabriel swallowed as Sara once again nodded and raised a brow at him. "Did you at least find out why?"

Sara laughed. "Yeah, but it gives me a headache."

"Well?"

"According to her, we _are_ related, but not really by blood. We're the same person." She gestured to her chest as if Elizabeth was inside her.

"But she's dead," Gabriel stated with confusion.

"Think 'Terminator.' I told you it gives me a headache."

"Well, now you're giving me a headache. Thanks a lot, Chief."

"You should work on your confusion tolerance, Gabriel." Sara laughed at the look on his face. "Just something Danny said to me once."

Gabriel looked closely at his friend. "Before or after he died?"

"After, of course." 

"And this test I came to tell you about?"

"The Periculum."

"The Periculum?"

"Yeah, thought you'd like an actual name to it instead of just 'the test.'"

"Uh, okay." He paused, obviously figuring out how to phrase what he wanted to ask and Sara used the pause to continue.

"It's a test given by the Witchblade to test the worthiness current Wielder. Basically, the current Wielder… I talked to three of the past Wielders. About why it chose me, why I have it, what I need to do… My mission, for lack of a better title. I got some questions answered, got more questions raised. Basically, as a test, it was confusing as hell at times, but I'm alive. I passed."

"Was Elizabeth Bronte one of the three past Wielders you talked to?"

Sara nodded, "Joan of Arc, Cathain, and Elizabeth Bronte, in that order."

Gabriel sighed. "Either you're a great storyteller, Chief, or you're telling the truth. The scary thing is that I'm leaning towards the truth. It'd really explain some things."

She raised her brow at him again. "Oh?"

"Talking to thin air? Spacing out for minutes or hours at a time? Hold out a coffee cup for no reason with the lid off? A picture of a lady spy from World War II who's identical to you?" He waved the hand holding the pizza in front of him. "Ring any bells?"

Sara laughed. "Hey, I can't help it if Danny misses the smell of coffee!"

"Like I said, I'm leaning towards the truth. Gimme a while to get used to this, kay? I mean, I've been operating on only the information I can find, and suddenly you're confirming or denying everything for me. It's gonna take me a while to assimilate everything." He looked over at his friend. "Why are you?"

"I'm finally getting it through my head what Dominique Boucher said to me. The Witchblade's controlling my life now. It's playing a game of connect the dots that I don't always understand, but that I obviously need in my life."

Gabriel chewed on his bottom lip before asking "I fit into this how?"

Sara shrugged. "I dunno yet. I know that you're one of the dots, but beyond that, only this knows," she held up the Witchblade.

"Gee, thanks, I'm a dot now," Gabriel laughed.

Sara laughed with him. "It wasn't meant as an insult, you know."

"I know." He looked at the partially eaten pizza. "What do you say we finish our food then I leave? You probably haven't eaten much, and if you're going to work in the morning…" His voice trailed off, obviously asking a question.

"I am. I don't think I could stand to spend another day here alone."

Gabriel gave a sympathetic chuckle. "Well, least you don't have to go food shopping tomorrow. Your fridge looks pretty well-stocked."

Sara looked over at the full shelves behind the glass doors. "I know, but I wish I knew how it got that way. I needed to go grocery shopping before everything started."

"You have no clue?"

"Well, I do have a clue, but I dunno how well it'll pan out. C'mon, kid, let's eat."

* * *


	2. First Day

* * *

Sara woke the next morning to see the sky just beginning to lighten with the rise of the sun. Feeling unaccountably energized, she climbed out of bed immediately and jumped into the shower, turning it on hot to help get some of the soreness out of her muscles. After doing nothing physical, she had jumped into heavy cleaning the night before and her body was protesting. Making a mental note to go into the gym in the next few days, she climbed out of the shower, dried off and got dressed.

She paused when her hand went over the small wooden chest Joe Siri had left her months ago. In it, she could find information about her parents. At the time, still angry over Danny's death, finding out that she was adopted, and Joe's retirement, she had simply stated that Jim Pezzini was her father. Now, she found herself wondering about the woman who had given birth to her and given her up. Would the answers be in there?

Shrugging, she decided there was only one way to find out. She moved the chest to her kitchen table and opened it. Inside lay some black and white pictures. She pulled them out, looking over the faces before laying them on the table. "Are you still alive," she asked the still pictures without expecting an answer. "What stories do you have to tell me?" She easily recognized herself as a teenager and the shots of her parents. She lightly touched the face of Teresa Pezzini in an informal wedding snapshot. "For so long I believed that you were my mother. I wondered what you were like, what you would have told me. I still wonder."

She laid the photographs down and picked up a container for 35 mm film. Opening it, she saw that the film had been used but never developed, and she idly wondered what was on it before moving on. Moving further into the small ox, she found a letter written in a woman's elegant hand. From her mother? Putting it aside to read later, Sara saw what had been covered by it. A bullet engraved on one side with a bull. Some type of in-joke with her father? She put the bullet down on the table and looked at the photographs again, hoping to get remember a bit more of her father and get a feeling for his wife. Her mother? "How does this work? You weren't my biological mother. You didn't raise me. But you did adopt me."

She moved over to her CD player and slid in a CD to listen to while she waited for Jake to show up before going back to the table and spreading out the pictures. Instead of concentrating on the captured faces, her eyes were drawn to the bullet. "I've seen this before." Sara picked it up, running her fingers lightly over the engraving. "Where?"

"Everything is connected, Pez."

Sara turned quickly to find Danny standing just behind her, looking over her shoulder at the pictures.

"I'm really beginning to hate that phrase," she said as she leaned against the table and crossed her arms across her chest.

"Why? You were a cute kid, Pez. What happened?" Danny glanced at her and smiled as he said it to let her know he was just teasing.

"Oh, you know what they say, a cop can never be cute. It's something in the coffee."

"I must have missed that piece of training," he laughed. "So, what do you hate about it?"

Sara thought for a second before answering. "It means there are no coincidences. I have to look into everything that happens to me to see how it connects to the rest of my life."

"Not everything, Pez."

"Well, that's a relief."

"Just most things." He flashed another quick grin at her.

"Oh, great," she responded, her voice laced with weary disgust.

Danny laughed before sobering and gestured to the bullet that Sara still held. "What does this say to you?"

"This stuff is supposed to belong to my parents, supposed to give me a clue about who gave birth to me." Her tone became frustrated. "I know I've seen the bullet before, recently. I just don't know where."

"When you remember where, what will it tell you?"

"I don't know." She turned to the table. Dropping the bullet to the table top, she dropped it and sighed, knowing that Danny wasn't going to say anything more until she came up with a few ideas. "That my father is connected to a case of mine somehow? He was a cop, so this has to be connected to cops. I know I saw the bullet at a crime scene, I just don't know which. Am I getting warm?" she asked while turning to Danny and seeing nothing but air. "Thanks, buddy."

She reached across the table and began checking her gun to make sure it was in proper working order. At the moment she finished, the buzzer sounded and Sara went over to answer it. "Yeah?"

"Sara!" Jake McCartey's voice came through the intercom, his surprise at being answered obvious.

"Come on up," she said while buzzing the lock open, taking another drink from her coffee mug and setting it down on the table before turning to the stairs.

Jake did, coming up the stairs to see her, stopping abruptly when he did.

"Hey," she greeted with him with a small smile. Sara waiting for him to reciprocate, asking if anything was wrong when he stayed silent.

Jake shook his head and looked over Sara. "No, nothing. I mean, you look great."

Sara smiled and, remembering Gabriel from the night before, motioned him forward for a hug. "I'm OK," she whispered into his ear before they parted.

Jake continued with his original thought as Sara turned back and picked up her coffee again. "It's just… with everything you've been through, I expected you to be… wasted."

"I guess you could say I've… uh… come to terms with a few things." Sara nodded, pleased at the fairly matter-of-fact way she had said that, and took another drink of liquid caffeine.

"Like what?"

Sara shook her head. "I don't know. My purpose." She smiled again before going to a clothes rack. _My purpose. My mission. Does the way it's said make much difference?_ She heard Jake sigh and turned back as she put on the jacket she had retrieved.

"What's all this?" he asked, moving towards the table.

Sara shrugged as she put the jacket on. "Ah, just some stuff that belonged to my parents. I was in the mood to look at it, see if they had any stories to tell."

Jake nodded as he picked up the bullet that Sara had been holding. "I'm guessing they do," he said partially under his breath.

Sara looked over at him while in the process of zipping the leather up, wondering what had made him say it like that. She noticed that he was looking at the engraved bullet she had talked to Danny about. _Everything is connected,_ she repeated. _Wonder how Jake is?_ Out loud, she asked him if there was time for breakfast.

Jake put the bullet back on the table, seeming strangely reluctant to actually let go of the small piece of metal. "Sorry, Pez. Dante wants to see you as soon as you get in."

Sara pushed a button as she passed the CD player, stopping the music, and started down the stairs. "Something to look forward to."

"Hey, he's not such a bad guy," Jake defended their captain as they went down the stairs, laughing at the disbelieving look that Sara shot over his shoulder at him.

"Yeah, sure." Sara shook her head and started to her Buell.

Jake's softly voiced "Hey, Sara?" made her turn to him.

"Yeah, Jake?"

"It's good to see you again."

Sara laughed. "You'd think I was gone for months, Jake!"

Jake backed up a step defensively. "Hey, a guy can't miss his partner?"

Sara stopped laughing and shook her head. "I was teasing you, Jake. 'Course a guy can."

"Good. Um, Sara? Wanna drive into work with me?" Jake noticed her raised eyebrow and explained. "There are some things I should tell you before you see Dante."

Sara shrugged and moved towards the light blue car, stowing her helmet on the backseat before sitting down herself. Glancing out the window, she saw a middle-aged Asian man with long blonde hair walking by.

Jake nodded, obviously relieved, and went to the driver's seat. Starting the car and pulling out, he noticed Sara staring blindly out the window. "Sara?"

She pulled herself out of the trance she had gone into. "Sorry, Jake. A movement just caught my attention."

"Something you wanna check out?"

Sara shook her head, her gaze returning to where the man had last stood. "Nah, I don't think we'd find anything there even if we did." She looked at the blonde man who had replaced Danny as her partner. "So, Jake, what do I need to know?"

Jake took a deep breath, visibly concentrating on the traffic he was driving in. "Dante knows that you were there when Conchobar was killed." He flinched at the look he could feel Sara directed at him and lifted one hand from the steering wheel in a placating gesture. "Sara, I didn't tell him. He suspects that you were there, since Conchobar was your boyfriend and you'd looked up his brother that day."

Sara sighed. _That man must have it in for me._

"He's really bent out of shape about it. Says the guys holding Conchobar were cops."

Sara glared at him. "They were terrorists, Jake. They tried to ransom Conchobar for his terrorist brother and for money from me."

"Hey, I'm on your side, remember? I'm the one who got you out of there before the cops showed."

She sighed. "I know. It's just…" she stopped, unable to continue.

"The memories are still fresh?"

She nodded and flicked a relieved glance in his direction. "Yeah, something like that."

"I've been covering for you, Pez. Said you thought you had food poisoning." Jake smiled and nodded, obviously patting himself on his back for his quick thinking when it came to excuses.

Sara nodded. "Thanks, Jake."

"Anytime." He glanced at her before turning back to the street. "Dante says that you used that roll of film we pretended to get of Orlinsky to get money from lockup. Was it for the ransom?"

Sara took a deep breath, reminding herself that she'd left everyone operating in the dark somehow. _They're in my life for a reason. I just need to figure out the whys. But how do I know I can trust Jake? I know he covered for me, but he's not Danny. I'm still trying to figure out where this all belongs._ She was quiet for so long that Jake had repeated her name twice. "Sorry, just thinking."

"About anything in particular?"

Sara looked at him, wondering what was hidden under the surface surfer boy looks. "Jake, I appreciate you covering for me, but things are still raw. You know how that is. Mind if we don't talk about it?"

Jake looked at her a moment before nodding. "No problem."

They finished the rest of the drive to the precinct in silence, speaking only after they had gotten out of the car. Jake was the first to break it. "Hey, Pez?"

Sara sighed and turned to Jake. "Yeah?"

"You know you can talk to me about anything, right?"

Sara looked at him, her green eyes moving over his face, staring into his blue ones, searching for something. She gave a small nod before going up the steps into the building. She wove her way around the uniforms and civilians milling around the large room and hallway before making her way to Homicide. She was just entering the office, Jake a step behind her, when Bruno Dante called out her name. She looked over at him, Jake moving to one side so he wasn't in her way, and raised an eyebrow at the captain.

"Can I see you for a minute, Detective?" The question was obviously an order, Dante already turning away from her and starting towards his office.

"Sure. You're the boss." She passed the helmet she carried to Jake for him to put it in the office and started after the man walking away from her.

He held the door open for her, a gallant gesture ruined by the smirk on his face. "Finally, Pezzini, you understand!"

Sara carefully schooled her face into a bland mask, knowing that Dante's continuous mispronunciation of her name wasn't carelessness, but a deliberate attempt to get under her skin. "Well, it does say 'Captain' on the brass plate on your desk."

"So true." He stepped around her and sat at his desk with the air of a king sitting on his throne. "So, how're you doing, Detective?"

Sara's brow raised again. "Concern, Captain? I'm touched." She sat down in one of the chairs he gestured to.

"You have one of the best closure rates in the department, Detective. Of course I'm concerned." He smiled widely, hoping to disarm her. "What did you have again?"

"Food poisoning, Captain." She settled back into the chair, getting ready for the long haul and the enjoyment of thwarting Dante.

"Irish food disagree with you?" He asked, obviously fishing.

"I'm afraid I wouldn't know, sir. John wasn't much more of a cook then I was." Sara shrugged. "We went out to eat a lot."

"Anywhere in particular?"

She shrugged again. "Here and there, hot dog vendors when in a hurry, pizza delivery. You know how it is."

Dante nodded. "Yeah. I gotta admit, Pezzini, I shoulda guessed you weren't much of a cook. Too busy trying to be a man."

Sara smiled. "Why on earth would I want to be a man when women are better?" She laughed as a dull flush worked it's way up Dante's neck to his face as he made aborted choking sounds. "Are you okay?" He nodded and she continued, "if you've assured yourself as to the state of my health, Captain, mind if I go? Jake said there's a ton of paperwork that still needs to be done."

Dante nodded distractedly and Sara got up to go to her office. Looking over her shoulder with her hand on the knob of the door, she said, "Thanks for your concern, sir," hoping to rile him even more. Before he could respond, she slipped out the door and closed it behind her.

"And Pezzini scores," she murmured under her breath as she let herself into the office she shared with Jake.

Jake looked up from the open file on his desk and held a cup of coffee out to her. "What?"

Sara laughed. "Nothing, Jake. Thanks for this." She raised the cup in salute before taking a drink.

"No problem."

Sara took off her jacket before sitting down. "Anything new?"

Jake shook his head. "Paperwork, paperwork, paperwork."

"Ahh, yes. The police department's market on deforestation. Well, who am I to stand in it's way? Pass me a folder."

The rest of the morning passed quietly with the two of them silently filling in forms and drinking pots of coffee. Finally, Sara looked up at the clock on the wall and noticed that it was 12:30. "Hey, Jake?"

"Yeah, Pez?" He asked without looking up from the manila folder he was reading.

"Hungry?"

Jake looked up and tossed the folder onto the desk. "Am I ever! What are you in the mood for?"

Sara shrugged into her coat. "Calzones?" She deliberately repeated his own pronunciation of cal-zone-ays.

"Hey, Pez, it's calzones." He said it correctly as he shrugged into his own.

"I know, rookie. Just making sure you do."

He lifted both hands palm up. "Hey, I'm supposed to remember what my training officer tells me, right?

"Right." Sara shook her head as they started leaving the station. "Tony's?"

"Sure. Wanna walk or drive?"

Sara looked up at the bright blue sky. "Walk. It's not too far and I feel like some fresh air after being cooped up in the office all day."

Jake nodded and fell into step beside her. "Good idea."

"Thanks again for covering for me."

Jake grinned. "Hey, least I can do, partner."

"Thanks for telling me about it too. Dante tried to trip me up."

"He ask about the deposition?"

Sara stopped and looked over at him. "Deposition?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah, I told him you had an alibi for the time of the murders. You were taking Kenneth Irons deposition on the case with Dominique Boucher and Gina Mavis."

Sara stopped and stared at him. "He backed you up?"

Jake nodded. "Yeah."

"Why?"

Jake shrugged. "Well, according to him, because he has the utmost respect for you."

"Direct quote?"

"Of course!" Jake gave her a faux wounded look.

Sara grimaced. "Great, just what I need; Kenneth Irons' respect."

"Hey, you can do a lot worse!"

Sara glanced at him and started walking towards the small Italian restaurant again.

Jake hurried to catch up to her before falling into step beside her again. "Well, it's true. He's rich, he's not that bad looking, and he's obviously willing to help you."

"Because he respects me."

Jake nodded in answer.

"Yeah, right."

Reaching Tony's, they ordered their calzones and went to sit outside at one of the wrought iron tables that lined the area between the window and the sidewalk.

"Why don't you think he respect you?"

Sara shook her head. "Jake, guys like him just want to control other people." Watching the rookie, she saw the slight grimace that spread across his handsome features before he took a drink of his soda. "Jake, did he ask for something in return?"

Jake shook his head.

"Jake?" Sara asked again, putting a small warning threat into her voice.

"He just said that if he needs a favor in return, he won't hesitate to ask," Jake explained in what he hoped was a soothing tone.

Sara took a sharp breath, wondering just what type of favor Irons would ask for. Knowing him, it wouldn't be something convenient and above-board.

"Sara?"

"Nothing, Jake. Just… Just be careful, ok?" She caught Tony gesturing to them and went to pick up their food from the clean counter. Sitting back down across from Jake, she handed him his food.

"I will, Pez." He smiled reassuringly and unwrapped his food.

Sara nodded and did the same.

After each had finished a few bites, Jake noticed that Sara was preoccupied, eating and drinking on auto-pilot with her mind clearly elsewhere.

"Pez?"

Sara glanced at him. "Sorry, Jake, just thinking about something." She took a long drink of her soda to give her time to collect her thoughts.

"Anything in particular?"

She shook her head. "Just some of the things in that chest."

Jake nodded. "The pictures?"

"Actually, no, the bullet." Sara's matter-of-fact reply caused Jake to choke slightly, and she moved over to pat him on the back. "Jake, you ok? Jake?" He stopped and began to breath, his face losing the ruddiness lack of oxygen brought. Lifting up the styrofoam container holding his soda, she kept her hand on his back as she offered it to him. "Here, why don't you take a drink?"

Jake took the drink from her and took a long sip from the straw. "Sorry, food went down the wrong way."

Sara sat back down and nodded. "Sure it wasn't something I said?"

Jake took another drink of his Coke and nodded. "Yeah, why?"

She shrugged. "Well, at the loft, you seemed pretty interested in the bullet."

Jake laughed. "Why would I be interested in a bullet that has an engraved bull on it?"

Sara shrugged again. "I'm not sure. You were looking at it when you said that you guessed my parents had stories to tell." Jake looked at her and she gave another small smile. "Good ears." He nodded. "So, what made you say that?"

Now it was Jake's turn to shrug. "Just that you don't often see engraved bullets. Especially bullets that belonged to cops."

Sara looked at him, a silent question seen in her eyes.

"You have a picture of your dad in his uniform. I'm a detective, you know."

She nodded and continued eating, her thoughts returning to the puzzle her life was now.

__

Everything is connected. I was right, I am beginning to hate that phrase. Jake knows more then he's telling me. Call it feminine intuition, a detective's instinct's, or a gut feeling from the Witchblade. I just know he's hiding something. Maybe that's how he's connected to this? Something to do with the engraved bullet, whatever it means.

Dante wouldn't have trusted Jake. He must have called Irons. I can understand why he gave me an alibi, as the Wielder of the Witchblade I wouldn't do him any good if I was in jail. But what does he want with Jake? What will he ask for as his favor?

I really shouldn't antagonize Dante. He already hates me and he is my captain. He can make my life difficult. More difficult then it already is.

Jake looked up at Sara's laughter. "Something funny?"

Sara nodded and tried to catch her breath, a job made harder by the fact she hadn't stopped laughing yet.

"Care to share the joke?"

Sara shook her head and managed to gasp out a reply. "It isn't something you'd get."

Jake watched her for a second before shrugging and finishing off his food. "Ready to go back?"

Sara finished off her own food and wiped her hands on one of the paper napkins from the tray. "No, but I don't think we have much of a choice if we want a paycheck." She stood and took a hold of her drink as Jake collected the trash and dumped it into the garbage on his way to return the tray to Tony.

He returned and gave a small bow with a sweeping gesture in the direction of the precinct. "Shall we?"

Sara shook her head at his antics and started down the street.

* * *


	3. Star Watching

* * *

That evening after Jake dropped her off, she looked around the loft and felt the urge to get outside again. Grabbing her helmet, she went down the stairs towards the Buell and hopped on. Starting the engine, she steered the machine towards the park. While it wasn't the wide open spaces she wanted, it was the best she could do in a hurry.

The wind grabbed at her clothing as she cut through the air on the way there, and she was chilled by the time she arrived and parked her Buell near a picnic table. She putting her helmet on the seat, she climbed onto the table and sat down on the surface, her feet resting on the seat. Leaning back and supporting herself on her hands, Sara could just make out the barest glimmer of stars above her.

A slight rustle sounded in the shroud of shadows created by the long-since burned out street lamp and Sara tensed without moving. The rustle grew closer and a tall shadow could be seen out of the corner of Sara's eye. She sighed when she identified it. "Nottingham."

The darker shadow disconnected form those lighter surrounding it as Ian Nottingham stepped forward. "Lady Sara," he greeted her, his voice barely above a whisper.

"I should have guessed that my friendly neighborhood stalker would show up sooner or later." Sara glanced over to see Ian standing with his head bowed before her. "You and Irons enjoy the show?"

Ian raised his head and looked at her, his eyes glittering in what little light reached him. "Show, Lady Sara?"

Sara nodded and went back to watching the sky. "The Periculum."

Ian shook her head. "It was a test, Lady Sara, not a show."

Sara nodded again, not completely believing that he and his… _What exactly is Irons to Ian Nottingham_, she wondered. _His master, his trainer, his owner? Boss doesn't seem to work. A mere boss wouldn't have the control that Irons does over him_. Deciding to mull over it later, she gestured to the picnic table. "I don't know why you're looming over there, Nottingham. Grab a seat." She saw Ian hesitate, and gave him an opening. "I'm getting a bit tired of having to strain to hear you." She sighed when he immediately moved closer to her and sat gingerly on the old wood. On the bench seat, she noted, at her feet instead of beside her as an equal. _Irons trained you well, Ian. Pity he trained you to be a dog instead of a man._

She sat up and gestured upwards with a hand. "What do you see out there, Ian?"

He looked at her, startled but pleased by the use of his first name before quickly averting his gaze once more. Obediently, he turned his gaze to the night sky. "Balls of gas of various temperatures at varying distance from Earth."

Sara chuckled and shook her head. "Stars, you mean."

Ian nodded once extremely seriously.

"Ian, you don't have to be scientific or precise with me."

Ian nodded again, not sure what to say.

Sara sighed, knowing that drawing him out of his shell and figuring out where he stood was going to take time. "What do you want to see?"

Ian looked at her again, unsure of what she was asking.

She looked up. "Some people look at the stars and see distant planets, exotic locales and alien beings waiting to be friends while others see future enemies. Even more see nothing at all, nothing special." She stopped and glanced at him again. "What do you see?"

Ian nodded slightly and, instead of looking up, closed his eyes. "Galaxies, supernovas, constellations." He heard Sara sigh again and knew that what he was saying wasn't what she was looking for. A memory of him as a child watching the night sky with a telescope came to him, and he remembered what he had said when Irons had asked him the same question. "Dreams, hope. It reminds me of how small, how inconsequential I really am in the scheme of things. How small all humans are." He stopped, involuntarily flinching as he remembered the feel of Irons striking him for that remark as he raged that most humans were inconsequential but he, Irons, wasn't.

She watched the obviously tensed man surreptitiously, knowing a direct look would only unnerve him more. He was wearing his black coat again, and just an inch of his neck was visible before skin reached hairline, his dark hair pulled back into a clubbed ponytail. The skin was fair, even in this weak light, but Sara noticed that along his cheek, the pale skin was mottled. Sitting up abruptly, she reached out and grasped his face in her hand.

Ian tensed even more, obviously schooling his reflexes so he didn't lash out. He allowed his head to be guided so that Sara could see the full side of it, barely able to keep from flinching again when he felt Sara's glove touch his cheekbone.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Ian," she said impatiently as she took off her glove. She touched her warm fingers to his cold skin, lightly tracing the mottled bruise.

Ian paused before nodding his acquiescence. He reached up and took hold of the hand holding his face. "I know that, Sara."

"Well, you sure didn't act like it," she snapped, too upset by the bruise to regulate her tone. She only realized how it had been taken when Ian's gloved hand dropped and he started to lower his head into his normal subservient gesture. "Ian," she said softly, using her hand to gently raise his face to hers again. "Listen to me, okay?" She waited a beat for the barely imperceptible nod she had known he would give. "You didn't do anything wrong. I was just upset."

Ian looked at her, his eyes showing his confusion as he asked "Why?"

Sara took a deep breath and traced his cheek with her fingers again. "Because someone had hit you."

Ian cocked his head slightly to one side, the movement not breaking Sara's touch as she moved her hands with the movement. "Sara, I am in charge of Kenneth Irons' personal security," he explained before continuing, "I was in covert ops. You have called me an assassin and a stalker. You yourself have threatened to kill me, telling me that no jury in the world would convict you for the murder."

Sara dropped her hands into her lap and looked down at them. _He's right_, she realized. _In all these months, I've taken my frustration about the Witchblade and Irons and my life out on him because he was a convenient target._ She looked up at the gentle touch on her chin into Ian's eyes. "I'm sorry," she said slightly stilted.

Ian shook his head. "Don't be sorry, Sara. It's understandable that you've been feeling frustrated."

Sara shook her own head. "You still didn't deserve to be my whipping post."

Ian shrugged, lifting one shoulder and letting it fall gracefully.. "It is a role I am used to, Sara."

"You shouldn't have to be."

Ian shrugged again in answer.

Sara swallowed, her emotionalism of the past few minutes having taken her by surprise. "So, some bruiser tried to take out your boss?"

Ian looked at her, knowing the question was a transparent ploy to change the subject and divert attention from herself. "Few 'bruisers' would attempt to take Mr. Irons' life, Sara."

Sara nodded. "Then who hit you?" she asked, and saw his visible hesitation. ""Forget it. I was just curious."

Ian soundlessly sighed, knowing that he couldn't have told her Irons was the one who hit him and relieved that he wouldn't have to lie to Sara. "They say that curiosity killed the cat."

"Confusing parables aren't enough, Nottingham? Now you're talking in cliches too?" Ian didn't answer her question and Sara chuckled. "It's a good thing I'm not a cat, isn't it?"

Ian nodded.

"Everyone has feline tendencies, though." She shrugged slightly. "Just a part of life, I guess." There was no response from the man beside her and she laid back on the table to look at the night sky again.

"What do you see when you watch the stars, Lady Sara?"

"Memories," she answered in a wistful voice.

"Of whom?"

She gestured with one gloved hand. "Everyone. I remember my dad reading me bedtime stories when I was little. Hugging me before I went to bed. The day he was killed, before I found out. Being at the Academy, finally fitting in. Being partnered with Danny." Her voice trailed off and a lone tear traced a wet path down her chilled skin.

"Why?" Ian asked as he watched the glimmering silver path in the light.

Sara lifted one hand and wiped at the tear track. "I felt safe. During each of those times, I knew that I was protected, loved." She sat up quickly and shook her head. "Sorry, getting maudlin. I should go."

Ian nodded and stood.

Sara stood up on the bench seat and jumped to the ground, looking at the hand that Ian automatically raised in case she needed steadying. As she watched, the hand was slowly lowered back to his side and he looked to the ground. "Thanks, Ian."

He looked up and gave a brief nod before turning and melting into the shadows.

Sara rubbed her cheek again with her glove. _What made me be so open to him? He always seems to get under my defenses._ She walked over to her bike, the hairs on the back of her neck raising. Turning to look into the darkness, she raised one hand in salute, thanking Ian for sticking around until she left.

* * *

Sara entered her apartment and automatically threw her helmet as she went to grab a beer. Taking off her jacket and hanging it on the hanger she took from the clothes rack, and sat down at the kitchen table, still covered with the contents of the wooden chest. Deciding to eat, she put everything but the bullet back into the chest, setting the chest to one side.

Leaving the bullet standing in the middle of the table, she got up to grab a few slices of the pizza, having kept part of what was left and sending the majority home with Gabriel. She put them on a paper towel in lieu of a plate and sat down at the table with them and her mug, already taking a bite from the top slice.

"Where do I know you from?" she asked the inanimate object. "What, I expect an answer?" she laughed and stood up to put a CD on. The CD she chose was one that Gabriel had burned and given to her a few days ago, the soulful Celtic strains bring memories of crisp green grass and horses. While not the normal type of music she listened to, she had to admit that the haunting melodies were relaxing.

Cathain flashed through her mind, the warrior was riding a horse through a meadow, charging at something. A race, it looked like, Cathain smiling and laughing while another horse and rider gained on her from behind. Conchobar? It was impossible to know for sure, the man in silhouette, the sun behind him throwing his features into shadow and obscuring his face.

Sara looked at the swirling stone of the Witchblade and sighed. "It's a good thing that I don't listen to this kind of music often if it gives me visions." The stone swirled for a few moments more before once more becoming opaque.

_I wonder if that would work with all of the past lives? Sense memory. People smell something, and remember where they first smelled it. Can I listen to music from different time periods and get memories from that Wielder? That could be fun to play with sometimes. Maybe help me figure out where people stand. If everything, and everyone, is connected now, wouldn't it stand to reason they were connected in the past? I bet Gabriel would be able to help with something like this._

Sara looked at the phone, obviously contemplating calling her young friend.

__

Nah, not right now. He needs to get some sleep, assuming he's even home. He doesn't need to be woken up to help me make theories on this. I already told him what I could yesterday. Besides, he did ask for some time to make sense of what I told him.

I expected him to be freaked out by what I told him. I should have known better. He started a business dealing with the occult, with cursed objects and pieces of history. Why should a sentient bracelet that causes visions creep him out? He wasn't much help in figuring out where others stand, but he couldn't be. Only they know and only I can find out.

Tall, dark, and scary. What a way to identify Ian Nottingham. It definitely works, but tonight, something was different about him. He seemed more open. Maybe that's why I was so open with him. I'd tell Danny what I saw in the stars, but he's the only one. What is it about Nottingham? He looks like your typical bad-boy, has the fighting skills to prove it, probably carries an arsenal in his trench coat… But he always gets under my skin. He shouldn't. Part of why I took so much of my frustration out on him. He was there, always there. He'd try to help, then go into that mysterioso crap he and Irons are so fond of.

Tonight, he seemed so innocent. Once you got past the clothes. A Covert Ops trained officer turned bodyguard, a stalker and assassin, flinching away from a hand on his cheek. No wonder he's always so serious. I wonder who got the drop on him. I can't imagine many would; his reflexes are great. Maybe that's part of the puzzle of Ian Nottingham.

Which is not the puzzle I'm supposed to be figuring out tonight. This bullet is.

Sara raised the bullet and lightly traced the engraving with her thumb.

_I don't even know where to start. Well, maybe I do._ She looked at the phone again. _I wonder if Gabriel's up to doing any research. Finding out what the bull represents can be a start._ Sara nodded, pleased with herself, and wiped the bullet with the extra paper towel she had brought before setting it on the table and wiping the excess grease off her fingers. 

Standing, she drained the remainder of the beer in one long gulp and tossed it into the bag she had set aside for glass to be recycled. Walking towards her bed, she turned off the lights on the way and changed into a pair of boxer shorts and a tank top. Falling into bed, she sighed at the feeling of the mattress conforming to her body and she turned to one side, falling asleep almost instantly to dream of chases on horseback though meadows and forests. 

* * *

Sara woke the next morning to the smell of coffee brewing. She stretched, loathe to leave the warmth of the bed, until she woke enough to register that coffee was brewing. She lived alone. She reached for the gun kept on her night table only to find it missing. When her hand encountered nothing but flat surface, she looked around the loft, trying to see the intruder.

The window closest to the fire escape was open.

Shaking her head, she got up from her bed, grabbed the cup of coffee on the table, and went to close the window. She could see him standing on the ground and she lifted the cup in thanks. Sara shook her head as Ian inclined his head, gave a gallant bow, and turned to walk away.

"For a stalker, he makes good coffee," Sara mused as the caffeine made it's way through her system. She drained the cup quickly and went to take a shower, letting the hot water wake her even more.

Once dry, she collected her cup and was going to get another from the pot on her counter when she was distracted by a piece of paper she hadn't seen before. Bold black writing nearly leapt out at her as she lifted it to read it.

__

Sara,

Good morning, my lady. 

I enjoyed last night.

Enjoy your coffee.

Ian Nottingham

She placed it back on the table. She walked to the counter to get her second cup of the day while asking herself, "well, Sara, what did you expect? A declaration of love?"

She sat down at the table and shook her head. "A declaration of love? Where'd that come from?"

She drained the second cup as quickly as the first and collected her jacket and helmet from where she left them last night. "Time to go take care of the bane of my existence."

"High heels?" was asked from behind her.

She whirled to face Danny. "Very funny," she responded, but Danny was already gone. Shaking her head, she glanced at the bullet before shrugging and slipping it into her pocket before heading down the stairs to her motorcycle.

A short while later, she pulled into the precinct, parking her bike near a long row of cars. She nodded to the officers she passed, not saying anything as she took off her jacket and made her way to the office she had shared with Danny. 

"No, Danny, paperwork. Again." She sat grabbed a cup of coffee from the pot on the filing cabinet and sat down in front of her covered desk.

"What'd you say?" Jake asked as he walked into the room, tossing his own jacket onto the back of his chair.

"Just talkin' to myself." She looked at the folder she held.

"Dangerous, Pez," he teased.

Sara shrugged. "No more than thinking."

Jake nodded and returned to his file. "We getting together for lunch again?"

Sara looked up at him quickly. "Sorry, Jake, going to go see a friend of mine."

"Oh." Jake slowly perused the typed letter without reading what was on the paper. "Anyone I know?" he asked in a tone of studied nonchalance.

Sara took a sip of her coffee. "Hmm, you met him before. Gabriel."

"Gabriel? You mean that kid that showed up here with the tickets to Conchobar's concert while we were investigating those ritual murders?"

"I doubt he'd like being called a kid," she nodded, "but yeah, that's Gabriel."

"What d'ya wanna see him for?" For nothing much, his tone implied.

Sara straightened in her seat and fixed the rookie with a cold stare, her green eyes frosting over. "He's a friend, Jake. You do know what friends are, right? He's helped me out in some tight spots."

Jake dropped the folder he held and lifted his hands, showing them to her palm up. "No offense, Sara. I was just asking. There's no need to insult me."

Sara watched him a minute before nodding and returning her attention to the paperwork that beckoned.

Jake sat back in relief. Pez was feisty under the best of conditions, but when defending someone she considered a friend she definitely had a 'take no prisoners' attitude. He didn't want to set her off and then have to spend all day enclosed in an office with her. 

* * *

The energized beat of KISS greeted Sara as she walked down the hall to the shop that held Talismaniac. She shook her head as she let herself in, wondering if she should tell Gabriel it wasn't safe to leave your door unlocked in New York. You're think he knew better, what with this being his business. She walked through the metal rolling shelves, idly picking something up here or there until she came to the end of them. Gabriel was at his beat up desk busily clicking away on the keyboard to his computer.

Her green eyes going mischievous, she crept up behind the young man. Stealth wasn't required with the volume the music was at, but it was better to be safe then sorry. She waited until she reached him and then placed both hands on his shoulders, leaning in to repeat the lyrics to 'King of the Night Time World' directly in his ear.

"'I'm the king of the night time world, and you're my headlight queen, I'm the king of the night time world, come live your secret dream."

The response was what she hoped for, Gabriel jumped in his chair under her hands before turning to her. "Chief, I really hate to tell you, but I'd be the king of the night time world, not you."

Sara shrugged. "Being royalty's never been a wish of mine."

Gabriel turned the music down to a less deafening level, and offered, "You can still be my headlight queen."

Sara chuckled and shook her head as she said, "thanks, Gabriel."

"No problem," he said as he stood up to pull out a chair for her to sit in. "So, what's up?"

Sara sat in the offered chair as she offered. "Nothing much, just wanted to see how you were."

Gabriel looked towards the detective. "Yeah, right. I'm doing okay."

Sara glanced up from the carved lotus flower she had picked up. "What was that for?"

Gabriel sat down beside her and laughed. "Sara, you're my friend…"

"You're my friend, too, Gabriel."

"But you never stop by just to see how I am or to do lunch," he continued as if there hadn't been an interruption.

Sara shrugged sheepishly. "Part of that not being fair to you. You're a great help to me, kid, but I don't want to shortchange you."

Gabriel considered this before nodding. "So, what'd you really stop by for?"

Sara glanced at the young man as the tinge of a blush arched across her cheekbones at how well he knew her. "Know anything about bulls?"

Gabriel nodded and turned to his computer, pulling up a painting that had a bull centered in the middle of it. "It's basically an ambiguous symbol; for ages it's been a symbol of masculinity and virility, but because of the crescent shaped horns, it can also represent death."

He changed the picture to another one, this one with a disk between it's horns. "This is the Apis bull. In ancient Egypt, it was worshipped as a symbol of creation. That disk, there," he pointed," is the disk of Ra." He scrolled down to see the same bull without the disk. "It was also sacred to Osiris, so it symbolized death."

Sara nodded. "So bulls are life and death."

Gabe shook his head. "Not always. In Roman times, it was sacrificed because it's blood was believed to fertilize the earth. Uh, it was also sacred to Greek gods such as Zeus, Dionysus, Aphrodite, and Poseidon. Because of it's roar, it was often the symbol of thunder gods, like Thor. Hindus see them as sacred, even today, and Jews call Yahweh the bull of Israel.

While the Western tradition has basically focused on the less desired characteristics, such as brutality, cruelty, and lust, it was a popular heraldic symbol." He pulled up the emblem of Richard III of England. "In those times, it showed courage and ferocity." He pulled up yet another picture, this one extremely familiar. "Taurus is also known as the sign of the bull."

Gabriel stopped his mini lecture to glance at the woman beside him, smiling slightly at the semi-glazed look in her green eyes. "So, why do you want to know about bulls?"

Sara shook her head to clear it before answering. "Just found something in some stuff that belonged to my parents."

"What?"

Sara looked at Gabriel and shrugged. "Just something I'd seen before. Once I figure out where, I'll tell ya."

Gabriel nodded. "Fair enough." He glanced at the clock and continued, "well, since you're here on your lunch break, why don't we eat?"

Sara gave a quick smile of relief that he was going to drop it so easily. "Sure, my treat this time."

Gabriel stood up and stretched. "Who'm I to turn that down? I know a great deli that's close, come on."

Sara followed him out, one hand in her pocket around the bullet she had picked up on impulse this morning. The Witchblade glowed as she wondered why she hadn't shown it to Gabriel.

* * *


	4. Engraved Bullets

Notes are at the end, guys.

* * *

That night as Sara sank onto the couch with a cold beer in front of her, she was still wondering. The bullet was gleaming a dull glow on the coffee table where she had tossed it. Her reluctance to include Gabriel struck a chord of familiarity, one she would have preferred to stay silent. "It's not like a leopard can change it's spots in one day," she told herself. No matter how hard she tried, she was a private person and old habits were hard to break.

She set the beer on the coffee table and walked around the apartment, idly touching something here, something else there. Leaning against one wall was the case that held Conchobar's guitar. Setting the case on the floor, she knelt and lifted the guitar out of it, settling it in her lap to play a few chords. A wistful smile graced her lips; he'd been teaching her how to play before he was killed and, while she was still interested, she wasn't interested in looking for another teacher. She had wanted to learn to be closer to him.

She glanced at the swirling Witchblade on her wrist and sighed, putting the guitar away. _I can use the Witchblade to talk to ghosts. I talk to Danny all the time. I even talked to Monsignor Bellamy. I haven't used it to talk to anyone other than Danny since then. Why not?_

I've been tempted, I am tempted, to ask to talk to my father, Maria, Conchobar. Even my mother. Talking to the dead is a great gift for a Homicide detective, but an even greater one to someone who's basically alone in the world. But I haven't.

I wish I could figure out why. I guess I just see it… For whatever reason, they were meant to die. The circumstances set in motion, their time. I don't know if I want to talk to them, knowing that we're separated. With Danny, we have a common goal regardless of the separation: the Witchblade. I wouldn't with anyone else. Maybe the Witchblade planned it that way.

God, I sound paranoid! Sara laughed, the sound of it strained as she looked at the bracelet she wore. The bracelet that was now controlling how her life played out. _Okay, maybe I do, but is that so wrong? It's not like I don't have reason._ A slight breeze ruffled the papers trapped under the guitar and she freed them, tears pricking the backs of her eyes as she looked at the scrawled words. It was the last song he wrote before his death, one that the band had used as a tribute to him. 

_'Oh fate is an unmerciful queen.'_ Sara laughed again, a familiar pain mingling with black humor. Well, you got that right. She placed the pages back in the case and closed it, leaning it once again against the wall before going back to the couch. Her mind still on Conchobar, she went over how she had met him; the rune which meant his name scratched on the wall of a murder scene. Automatically her mind began replaying the song he had sung that tied into the case as she laid down and stared at the ceiling.

_Bid Goddess rise from mists of memory_

Rise the fair Cathain

In battle the equal of every man

And every lover disdained.

Sara sat up so quickly that she had a moment of dizziness. She steadied herself for a moment before hurrying back to the guitar case to take out the papers. If she remembered right… There it was. The written lyrics for The Legend of Cathain. Scanning the words quickly, she came to what she remembered.

_Till Ulster's sons with sacrifice_

Bid her return once more

Trying to remember, she flashed back to the original scene of the murder, the guard who found the first body, who had turned out to be the killer. Brian Reilly. Iona McClearey, his intended second sacrifice, had told Jake that he was wounded Irish Catholic.

Second sacrifice. The Witchblade hissed and glowed, swirling furiously as Sara relived the second sacrifice as a vision. Iona tied to the stone altar, Brian repeating Conchobar's song as he readied to kill her. He had been giving her the murder weapon when he was killed. She left the pages resting on the still open case and went back to the coffee table, picking up the bullet. That was where she'd seen it before! It was the only evidence left of the shooter.

_Jake told me he wasn't the shooter, but he was very interested in this. Was he lying? Or does he know something he isn't telling me? _

Sara shook her head at the thoughts and drained the now warm beer she had abandoned before going to bed. Hopefully things would look clearer tomorrow. She slid between the sheets, idly making plans to go see Gabriel and spending time figuring out what do do about Jake.

* * *

She watched Jake industriously work across from her, her green eyes watching his every

move as she silently sat at her own desk. The paperwork lay where she had placed dit, her coffee similarly abandoned.

Jake looked up from the papers in his hand and caught her watching him again. "Do I need to brush my hair or something?"

"You always need to brush your hair, rookie," was Sara's automatic response.

Jake put the papers down on the desk and folded his hands in front of him in a gesture of extreme patience. "Why do you keep staring at me?"

"Just thinking." Sara smiled briefly when she saw his surprise. Obviously he hadn't expected her to admit to staring in any way.

"About what?" he asked, knowing that they wouldn't get any work done until she got whatever was bothering her out of her system.

"You."

"Anything you want to know, you can ask." Jake childishly crossed his ankles so the lie didn't have to be followed.

"Really?"

"Of course! I'm your partner. Partners don't keep things from each other," he reminded her, needling her about her own problems about leaving him in the dark.

"Okay," she accepted as she leaned back in her chair and put both booted feet on her desk. Jake followed her example and leaned back in his own chair, the very picture of nonchalance. She waited until he stopped moving and then asked "what was your fascination with the bullet the other morning?"

Jake tensed and tried to continue to give her a carefully studied front. "I already told you, Pez, you don't see many engraved bullets that belong to cops."

Sara nodded vaguely. "I know what you told me, rookie. I'd like the truth."

Jake couldn't sit stil and left his seat to pace in the small confines of the office. "That is the truth!"

Sara watched the pacing rookie, every instinct within her screaming that he was lying.

Jake seemed to realize how guilty he was acting at that same instant and he immediately sat back down in his chair. "It's the truth, Sara."

Sara watched him for a long minute before nodding and starting her paperwork again without saying another word to him. She heard Jake give an almost inaudible sigh of relief and schooled her features into a blank mask, hiding the fact that she knew she couldn't trust him. It was unfortunately; Danny had spoiled her, teaching her that partners are allies no matter what. Her hopes at finding another partner like that were spoiled, as were her plans to teach Jake that fact.

"I really miss you, Danny," she whispered so low that Jake was oblivious to the sentiment as well as the fine tension that now raced through his partners body.

* * *

"Twice in two days, Chief?" Gabriel asked as he came closer to the door with the sign of his online company emblazoned on it. Sara was sitting in front of it, her back flush against the wall and her legs straight in front of her. 

In response, she stood up and reached out to take hold of the bottom box in the stack he held, earning her a smile of gratitude as he fished his keys out of the pocket of his jeans to open the door.

"Thanks, Pez. I was gonna have to put everything down and I really didn't want to lift it all again." He opened the door and let her precede him in, flicking on the lights with one hand as he motioned to a space on the floor near a corner. "Just put them anywhere."

Sara followed the request, bending at her knees to put the boxes on the floor carefully since she didn't know what was in them. They were pretty light, but since they belonged to Gabriel, it could be anything.

Gabriel frowned, just noticing her silence and the lack of facial expression. "You okay, Chief?"

Sara nodded jerkily and sat down in the chair he had gestured to.

"You don't seem okay." He said it as a joke, his tone light to mask the worry in his voice.

In answer, Sara reached into one of her coat pockets and pulled out a small object, handing it to Gabriel.

Gabriel automatically accepted it and glanced at it, recognizing it as a bullet. He looked at Sara in confusion, until she reached out and turned it, revealing the engraving. Gabriel glanced at it again before looking up at Sara. "This is why you were asking about bulls?"

"Know anything more now?"

Gabriel looked over at Sara and nodded. "One of my clients is a real conspiracy nut, collects brutality memorabilia. Absolutely hates the cops. He swears there's a group of dirty cops in New York that have an engraved bullet they use to kill people."

She raised an eyebrow at him. "This conspiracy nut give you a name?"

"The White Bulls." Gabriel continued when Sara didn't respond, "you know, he offered me fifty thousand if I could get him a real one of their bullets." Reacting to Sara's glance at him, he lifted his hands. "I'm just curious as to where you got it."

Sara swallowed the lump in her throat. "It was in with some stuff that belonged to my parents."

Gabriel frowned in thought. "Wasn't your dad a cop?" When Sara nodded in response, he followed the logical train of thought. "You think he was a White Bull?"

Sara glanced at him before taking the bullet back and pocketing it. "I don't know anymore."

* * * 

Sara picked up one of her framed pictures and looked at a young James Pezzini standing next to a young Joseph Siri. She traced both men, young cops with smiles on their faces ready to take on the world. Placing the picture back on the table, she grabbed her leather jacket and headed out the door. She needed to get rid of some of the tension she felt.

That thought in mind, she headed towards the gym she used occasionally when she wanted to work out but get away from the department. Pulling her Buell up along side a group of buildings, she climbed off and pulled her workout clothes from the saddlebag before entering the rundown building.

Going straight to the women's locker room, a stark concrete room that held only lockers and benches, she changed into the ancient sweatpants and faded sleeveless T shirt before tying her hair up in a ponytail to keep it out of the way and going towards the exercise room. This room was also stark, full of only old equipment, a boxing ring, and some punching bags. It had character and history, something Sara preferred to the weekend only exercise clubs most seemed to favor.

Sara picked one of the punching bags, one located in the farthest corner away from any traffic, and started her workout, pummeling the bag with a desperation born of her anger. Panting slightly, she pulled back from the swinging bag and shook her head. No use getting herself so out of control she'd hurt herself.

She started again, this time taking measured responses and punches at the swinging bag. Shifting her body, she mimicked an actual fighting match, the bag her only outside opponent. Again and again, the wrappings on her hands made contact until sweat began running down her body, soaking into the well worn fabric she wore. Still, she continued until her muscles began to shake with the exertion, at which point she decided her extra workout was over. Still punching, slowly now, she wound down.

Shucking the gloves and picking up the towel she had tossed onto one of the rickety chairs placed throughout the room, she wiped her face off and went back to the locker room, her only thoughts of stripping and washing the sweat off her body with one of the bracing showers she loved about this place.

Once dry and dressed in the street clothes she came in, she left, nodding a goodbye to Frankie, the gym's owner. Not wanting to go back to the confines of her loft, she automatically steered once again to the park she had visited before. Finding her way to the same table she had sat on with Nottingham, she laid down on the wood and stared up at the sky.

The clear night was so similar to the other one that she didn't even jump at Ian's softly spoken question. "What do you see, Lady Sara?"

Automatically, she answered. "I'm not seeing what I'm looking for." She was aware of him sitting down on the bench, in the same sport he had occupied before.

"What are you looking for?"

"Answers." Sara sat up and glanced at him. He wore the same dark trench coat, the same severe ponytail. 

Ian looked up to her before quickly looking down again. His shoulders tensing, he seemed to make a decision and looked up at her again, his hazel eyes catching her own. "The answers you seek, Lady Sara, can only be found here," his hand barely stroked her forehead before moving downward and hovering over her heart, "and here."

Sara smiled sadly when he broke the rare eye contact. "I guess you're right." She stood up quickly only to sit back down hard as a wave of dizziness washed over her. She was aware of Ian's arm around her waist, a steady warmth that was her only anchor in the shifting world surrounding her. Finally, the dizziness abated and the world settled itself into it's normal confines. She smiled sheepishly at the assassin who still held her. "Must have gotten up too fast."

Ian reluctantly let go of her and assessed her carefully. Other than being a bit pale, she seemed healthy. "Are you all right, Lady Sara?"

Sara nodded and stood again, this time carefully holding onto the table. "Yeah, I must have worked out more than I should have earlier." She let go of the table when her legs supported her. "I'll probably just go home and crash." She started to walk away before turning, though she didn't really expect to see him still there. "Thanks for your help, Nottingham."

Ian nodded and watched her leave, a frown on his face as she mounted her bike. Making up his mind, he made his way to the dark sedan he had taken from the Irons estate earlier. He'd follow her home, just to make sure she was alright. His caution was unneeded as she made it home in one piece, completely unaware of the man who was following her. He waited outside until the light in her window turned on and he started the car to go back to the mansion he slept in.

Sara changed into her night clothes and turned off the lights, stretching out on the bed. _Was he a White Bull? Could James Pezzini, the man who raised me to follow my instincts and do what's right have been part of an organization that takes bribes? It seems impossible, ludicrous. My father never would have done anything wrong. But am I seeing him clearly?_

Every young child sees their parents as perfect, as heroes who can stop all the evil in the world. I was ten years old when he died. For me, that was it. My memories were sacrosanct, frozen in amber. They're what kept me going when I was a teenager, something intangible but always there that I could fall back on. I wanted to be a cop to be like him. To help clean up New York, help people.

Is my whole life based on a lie? If my father wasn't an upstanding citizen, one of the good guys, are my reasons for wanting to be a cop null and void? I know I'm a good cop myself. I know I can handle the demands of the job. I've proved that to myself and anyone else paying attention. I can't even imagine being anything else.

But what if I could have been? I never even thought about becoming anything else. My earliest memory is Dad telling me about his father, a cop. Family tradition, he always said. A Pezzini son of every generation became a cop. I wanted to be a part of that legacy. I decided I would be, even if I was a Pezzini daughter instead of a son.

Was my narrow-minded vision of the future what led me down this path? What led me to the Witchblade? Sara turned over to rest on her stomach, leaning on one arm while the other was stretched in front of her, the red jewel barely seen in the shadows. _Is it the Witchblade that's been controlling my life? I know it does now and I'm not happy about it. I hate being out of control. Was my control before I met this thing an illusion? I like that even less._

She sighed and went back to her former position on her back and stared up at the shadows on the ceiling. _For the first time I don't seem to be in control of my life. I can pretend to be, but I'm not. I can't even fight it. It's my destiny to wield this ancient weapon. This sentient weapon. I passed the Periculum, accepting my mission, my bloodlines, my history. I accepted that there's more to life than I can see and that there are forces at work that I don't understand. I accepted my destiny._

Why do I still feel unsure of my ability to follow through? Sara turned, curling up on her side and drifting off to sleep, still thinking of the task that lay before her and wondering about the man she called Daddy.

* * *

TBC

Notes: I found this part written but it hadn't been posted. I know, I haven't posted for this story in forever. Sorry! I'm starting something new, which will hopefully get more of this story written. I may not be updating often, though. I just wanted you to know that I haven't forgotten about this fic and it's not season 2 that made me stop. Well, not directly. My muses don't like season 2 Ian, so I need to find my season 1 tapes and watch them. And hope that they don't mess up my season 2 stories!


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